Hey DJ - Spin That Wheel ....

My favorite sage once told me "better look out" else you won't "see" :-) This is a wanderer's wanderlust !!, an attempt to navigate through the omnipresent urban blindness, albeit without any kind compass, and yet, inadvertently and magically, stumble upon the ever elusive truth.

From Durga Chew's book "Too much and not the mood"....she is easily one of the best writers I have ever read. Ever.

I’d heard talk of Sharon Stone uncrossing her legs in that infamous interrogation scene, but when I finally saw Basic Instinct, it was her shoulders pushed back on the chair that totally stunned me. I’d never experienced shoulders accelerating my pulse. I’d never seen a pair of shoulders communicate point of view. Liquidate a room of all its men and their presumption. Sharon Stone’s shoulders pushed back were like Whoa.

“Where there is light, there must be shadow, where there is shadow there must be light. There is no shadow without light and no light without shadow.... We do not know if the so-called Little People are good or evil. This is, in a sense, something that surpasses our understanding and our definitions. We have lived with them since long, long ago-- from a time before good and evil even existed, when people's minds were still benighted.”Haruki Murakami

Add that to my dichotomy list. I am atheist who believes in Buddha. I am a peace loving person who eats eggs. I am Buddhist who kills. And now.....for someone who detests visual stimulation, I adore Netflix :-). Now counter that :-).

Production values, taut script, immaculate actors, brilliant screenplay......beats Hollywood and Bollywood by a long mile.

I loved the dialogue "The purpose of war is peace".....its immensely philosophical.

Take a bow Netflix :-). You have in me someone who is not even a cord cutter. I never had a TV, but now I am a Netflix fan. Of course it helps that I now hit the gym everyday, because thats where I catch this new crack :-).

"Art belongs to everybody and nobody. Art belongs to all time and no time. Art belongs to those who create it and those who savour it. Art no more belongs to the People and the Party than it once belonged to the aristocracy and the patron. Art is the whisper of history, heard above the noise of time."

Friday, February 02, 2018

Picture this.
So I am meditating near the shrine's sanctum....and thats when I see this man who is blind (clearly so)....walking with the aid of a walking stick.

He is old, slightly decrepit (signs of poverty), slightly portly and his trousers are distraught. He slowly is walking towards the sanctum where the main body of consecration lies. He is walking across the ocean of people near him. Both oblivious and yet aware. One of the other devotees, notices him and holds his hands and guides him for the next 50 steps till the altar.

Here the blind man, silently prays for a few minutes, then he removes some money and drops it into the offering box. And then he slowly (laboriously) bends down. Very slowly infact.....he is trying to prostrate to the divine.

Thats when you realise that he cant seem to bend his right set of limbs. He seems to either have a stiff set of bones or a broken set of bones.

But over a good 30-90 seconds, bend he does. He touches his head onto the feet of the altar. He shudders as if he is weeping or as if this is a very profound moment for him.

A good minute or two later, he extricates himself off the floor. Again a slow process of getting up. And then once he has stood up, adjusted himself, regained his composure, he walks slowly backwards with his face to the shrine.

In this tiny sliver of my life, I have felt more divine than a million Vedic chants and a zillion tyrannical evangelists.......

This, to me, is what the human greatness is about. This is about what human beings are truly capable of. Being heroes and devotees at the same time. Being respectful and humble-nothings at the same time. Being blind and still seeing visions at the same time. Being able bodied (like me) and yet malformed at the same time.

Thursday, February 01, 2018

By now I have become a completely avowed Murakami fan. I just finished 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami and its immersive, magical, surreal and yet very deep. Its like the Wind up bird chronicle, leaves you with very deep images - you almost get immersed into the story as if you were living it.

You form mental images of the characters - you see, hear and learn to understand them.

This book is in three parts spanning 1328 pages.

Completely worth a read. On a scale of 10, I would rate this 9 for its magic and its depth.

Wednesday, January 31, 2018

So I am at CP (Delhi), post a meeting at around 940pm at night. I book a cab ride back to the hotel. As I wait in the pick up area, I hear this totally existential torrent, that is both bizarre and fruity-nuts at the same time.

So picture this.
A young couple are waiting near me. Guy is portly full of himself and the Girl is dressed like any other Delhi girl....leather jackets, knee length leather boots. Very chic (supposedly), but very un me :-).

So the girl books an Ola using her phone. And the guy tells her in Hinglish...here goes.

Guy : Ho gaya? Done.
Girl : Yes.
(Then they both peer into the app with deep interest and curiosity....and then something happens...not clear to me,)
Guy screams at her with a totally Delhi level-10 indignation: What the fuck are you doing? (He is literally angry). Meine bola tha tu Ola app nahi upgrade kariyo....aur phir yeh (I had told ya not to upgrade the app...and yet you did this).
Girl sucks up the indignation.
Guy looks at her with rage and disgust. Then with a complete frusto look, adds to his previous tirade.
Guy : Abhi bata tu raat mein kya karegi? (Now what shall you do at night?)

And to me this is as bizarre and weird as the existential gold standard "Toh problem kya hain?". Watch Karan and Biswa above....Both of these phrases are now permanently part of my vocab.

I have been besotted by the idea (in recent months), that language is indeed a tool of oppression. Like were the Vedas (in their abstruse greatness, I really do love them!!), intended originally for the sly purpose of "bucketism" by language?

Possible, right?

At least to me yes.

Today I watched this.....

I thought both the slam poetry and the narration were equally terrible. Apologies Diksha, I know you are young, but being authentic is usually ageless....and I am the angry judge, who you don't care and should never care about....but judge I will.

And yet....her central idea is bang on.

Not because I am a vernacular fan. I am in fact exactly like her, tormented by the malaise that is called English...so much so....that English is my only primary language.

Think......

Also take a bow for someone like Jhumpa Lahiri, who just decides to permanently think and write in Italian because she likes Elena Ferrante. (On side notes, Jhumpa is gorgeous both as a person and a thinker, and Elena is a Goddess in the way she writes...:-)

Friday, January 26, 2018

“The moon had been observing the earth close-up longer than anyone. It must have witnessed all of the phenomena occurring - and all of the acts carried out - on this earth. But the moon remained silent; it told no stories. All it did was embrace the heavy past with a cool, measured detachment. On the moon there was neither air nor wind. Its vacuum was perfect for preserving memories unscathed. No one could unlock the heart of the moon. Aomame raised her glass to the moon and asked, “Have you gone to bed with someone in your arms lately?” The moon did not answer. “Do you have any friends?” she asked. The moon did not answer. “Don’t you get tired of always playing it cool?”The moon did not answer.”

Monday, January 15, 2018

"I am the most happy and motivated leader at work."
"I have defended and driven collabration through some very difficult times."
"I drive a sense of peace, calm and purpose across the firm."
"If I give up, I shall take the ship down with me."
"I have saved and salvaged someone, who otherwise would have gone down a spiral."

First of all, big thank you !!. Really mean it.
But.....

If you ever saw me in my personal life, as I appear to my wife, mother and sister(s) (ah! the women in my life!!), you might see that the calm ocean soothes a turbulent volcano underneath. They would tell you I am a terror. I am monster of epic proportions. (They actually might use those phrases).

What causes a human to drive so much peace, calm, purpose @ work, but somehow be a sly failure in his personal endeavors.

Its strange, but true, and I have no qualms admitting to the Loch Ness that I sometimes can be.

One day, I hope the women in my life think and say things similar to the positive flowery phrases above. Till then, its my job to admit to all of you - that this moon does have a dark side, and its outlandishly black. In that part of me, black is the new black :-).

Speaking of besottment (from the previous post), I cant even explain how obsessed I am with the song Naina from Omkara.

Essentially a song about how our own eyes can drive us to believe what is not. If you love poetry, this is just madness at another level. A whole song, that drives the point that "dont see what you already believe in:-)".

Metaphorically thats so true - we often see what we already believe in. I have been part of the jury and the judged in this game. The song resonates with a deep blur red in my heart.

Rahat is magical.

BUT.....
BUT....

Rashid Khan is divine. Its beyond goose pimples.

I dont know at how many levels should I bow to - Gulzar, Vishal, Rahat, Rashid. This is truly sublime.

“According to Chekhov," Tamaru said, rising from his chair, "once a gun appears in a story, it has to be fired.""Meaning what?""Meaning, don't bring unnecessary props into a story. If a pistol appears, it has to be fired at some point. Chekhov liked to write stories that did away with all useless ornamentation.”

Background to this is - Aomame (the protagonist) is asking Tamaru (a bodygaurd) to somehow source her a gun (with just one bullet) so that she can kill herself if she is ever captured (in the process of committing a difficult task).

I found this deep and very insightful. Its simple, but immense in its implications.

(I did not plan on it this way, but coincidentally this post ends with 84 :-))

Fabolous song writing @ Brilliant Disguise by Bruce Springsteen. If I could do away, I shall do away with the "baby" but the rest is truly mellow.

Now you play the loving womanI'll play the faithful manBut just don't look too closeInto the palm of my handWe stood at the alterThe gypsy swore our future was rightBut come the wee wee hoursWell maybe baby the gypsy liedSo when you look at meYou better look hard and look twiceIs that me babyOr just a brilliant disguise

Just finished the read of Milan Kundera's masterclass into introspection around both Forgetting and Laughing.

Its immersive and addictive.

I could write pages on the beauty of this prose.

On a rating scale of 10, I would rate this a good 9.5. Milan Kundera will forever remain one of my favourite authors

Total pages : 320

On a related note, I have read the Henry Michael translation and I find the lyrical, poetic and just beautiful. Which also means other than the central idea, pretty much the prose and the lyrical quality of it, should be attributed to Henry Michael.

In the complex I live, there is a runner's slope with a gradient of about 25 odd degrees. Whenever I can, I try and jog a bit to feel better - both about my weary and weak heart, and about the silences that running can offer.

At various points, I have run during both mornings and evenings. And now I have noticed that a "lower middle economic" youth (swear don't mean to be classist, just wanted to leave you with an image) drives over in a black Honda Active with two huge bags of steel boxes. These are the small round steel boxes which can possibly feed an adult.

This "person" lets call him Mr. Good - parks it on top of the slope (hill). As he parks, his scooter has an entourage of some 10-15 stray dogs who run behind like a sequenced motorcade. He then opens up some 15 boxes with the precision of a server who has forever been feeding at banquets - which means fast, smooth and still courteous.

The boxes include rice, some lentils and some veggies/meat. Each dog grabs a bowl (no sharing....) and finishes the meal off in about 40 seconds. With the same mechanical precision that he had opened it up, he closes the boxes and begins his drive down the hill. He parks at the bottom of the hill and another 15 boxes open up - and a different set of 10-15 dogs finish the job on hand.

Post this, Mr. Good packs up and drives off. This whole scene then repeats itself in the evening. With clockwork precision.

As I have watched this over and over again, I do posit - Good karma is never hard, it just "is".

Secondly, an odd thought crosses my mind - what happens on the day Mr. Good falls ill, or breaks a leg or just dies. Does that event mean this "movie" temporarily either stalls or ends.

There is a short story hidden in this imagery. Coming one day soon :-)

Various writers have written about this, that the easiest way to destroy a people(s) (read a community, country or identity) is to attack its culture, language and ethos.

It just came up in Milan Kundera's "The Book Of Laughter and Forgetting" again.

Of course over years, I have had the luxury and pain of thinking and introspecting on this topic - both in my wannabe "social anthropologist" and my "Marco economist" avatars.

The more I have meditated, I am more and more sure that folks are indeed correct. Even a subtle attack on culture (shared wisdom) is a dent in an identity. This just not does not apply to despots and countries, but it equally applies to "corporate leaders" and organisations.

Though I think of this usually as a "mass destruction" weapon....and hence "destroy" in the subject line.....I completely recognise that sometimes it can also be a vehicle for change....albeit very rarely.....a related question is, how many times has culture (shared wisdom) been grossly wrong?

Its a deep insight that this thought leaves me with, and I don't like the aftertaste.

I have never been more aware of my age. As I continue to share my workspace with 20 somethings, it never fails to amaze me how much more they are intelligent and "arrived" than I ever was in my 20s.

Of course, I have been successful in forging the fragile balance where we marry their immense skills and confidence, with that "age old" gold sometimes recognised as "wisdom".

Today as I listened to the song called "Dil tho baccha hai ji", the Gulzar classic from "Ishqiya", I realised that the song is essentially an "old man's ode" to his own "young heart". Notice the words "man" and "ode". Yes thats what the song is all about.

One line never fails to catch my ear there "Saari jawani katra ke kaatiPiri mein takra gaye hain
"
Coarsely translated as "I have spent my whole youth guarding against the fall,And look at the irony, today I bumped into her at the market"
I can completely sing in chorus with Gulzar. The young heart trapped in an ever raging body.

Thursday, January 04, 2018

Have eternally been in love with Milan Kundera. In my troubled times, I seek solace in him. He occupies a special place in my life, in the same pedestal as Alan Watts.

Over time I have of course, added (Salman) Rushdie and (Haruki) Murakami to the list. I can pretty much-read anything they have written and know that I can find my peace and solace in them.

While Alan Watts forces my mind to still, Rushdie steers me to joy and epiphany, Murakami transports me into a world that is as real as the wort on my feet...its Kundera who always evokes the poet in me.

Makes me introspect and pause. Makes me want to not read fast enough so that the book never ends. Quite seriously.

How does a stranger I have never met, impact me in such deep ways.....difficult to explain. Elena Ferrante makes me want to learn Italian, Murakami makes me want to learn Japanese...but Kundera makes me yearn to be Czech....not just to learn French or German. Get the drift?

Take a bow, dear Kundera. I have been blessed to discover and read you.

So today on a flight, I chose to read instead of working. And the book I started yesterday, I finished it up.

This is true magic in the way Murakami can pull you into his world. I was hooked - though this is not a thriller or a pot boiler...its everyday humdrum, that just pulls you in with its surreal imagery.

On a rating of 10, I would rank this 9.
Definite must read again someday.

One of my all time favorite songs....Eric Clapton with the King (BB King).
This song can get me into the mood anytime of the year.
Play on a loud speaker system and be enthralled with Eric's vocals and the overall jazzy sounds.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

I don't necessarily agree on this for a civilization, but do strongly believe this applies to a single individual. Everything around our brain is singularly focussed on how much deep learning has happened or can happen. More on that later.

Civilization advances by extending the number of important operations we can perform without thinking about them.

By the time we arrived in New York, or Texas, or Oklahoma, or wherever, much was lost. “Your first discovery when you travel,” wrote Elizabeth Hardwick, “is that you do not exist.” In other words, it is not just the others who have been left behind, it is all of you that is known. Gone is the power of punishment of your family name, the hard-earned reputations of forebears, no longer familiar to anyone, not in this new place. Gone are those who understand how you became yourself. Gone are the reasons lurking in the past that might excuse your mistakes. Gone is everything beyond your name on the day of arrival, and even that may ultimately be surrendered.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Whats that feeling when you read something, someone wrote 8000 miles away (yes she's in NY), and does not know that you exist at all.

And yet you read enthralled...living the book vicariously. (And no its Julian Barnes (because he is a he :-)) or Elena Ferrante (because she lives in Italy).

You read with rapt amazement, wanting those words to be yours (not in an ownership sort of way), but you wish they somehow originated from your keypad (damn the pen!!).

Is it a feeling of floating? A sense of complete disbelief. How could she write like this? How could any human write like this?
How could mere printed words (on a kindle!!) give anyone such a mighty intellectual rush?

I have started writing again in the past 2 months...and its torturous to see your own writing in such shambles and a young preenie, come up and shake your soul up...like a Solyent blender (going bankrupt on skates!!)

I am going to write. I will mostly Trump, and I am indeed going to "Make my MacBook great again".

Possibly the only folks who will relate to this post will be my bibliophile brethren.

How many times have you read a book or a passage, and then closed your eyes....wanting to pause - not because the passage is dense. But more so because something in you hit a pot. Something stilled. Something stifled. Something sighed.

And in that moment, you dont want the book or the passage not to end. Its far too beautiful to pass away into transience.

I read about 45 books a year, and this happens to me less than 1-2 books in a year.

And today on the flight, I read one such book. I want to hold the book and clutch it to my heart as I doze off. (Funnily its a kindle :-) copy).

Well, this is perfectly explainable. Its only a simple dopamine rush. Thats what my rational brain tells me....and then a part of me says "really, is that all there is to this life?"

I wear a simple wooden amulet from Tibet. The one that has about 12 beards, each with its own little inscription reading "Om mani Padme Hum".

Every time I look at or fondle this amulet (in my nervous brush moments), I of course think of "Om mani Padme Hum" but more importantly I have trained myself to remind myself of the phrase "This too shall pass."

Nothing is more important than reminding ourselves that life and the world around is transient. In a 100 years not one person will remember you and me. In 200 years no one will remember the pioneers of today like Elon Musk. In another 2000 years, even Jesus and Buddha might be gone. Possibly. In another 5000 years, the human race will definitely be gone....and this planet will be a lonely blue spot in the vastness we call as "space".

Rocks, metal, gold, all of it will be gone. And then the earth and the sun will be rumbling ahead for the next 3-4 million years while the sun extinguishes itself.

And in that realisation, lies the truth that we are not even noticeable blips in the ocean's ripple.

The human brain conceives the "separateness" with the world around it as a survival defence technique. How much Zen or awakening we need to be reminded of the eternal truth that "this too shall pass".

Me, I only needed a simple amulet to remind me every single day (especially in my nervous moments), that this story shall end soon.

I have blogged about this song "Jaag Ke Kaati" from the movie Leela at least 2 times in the past.

There is something beyond awesome in this song. I have heard this song about 12 times on repeat in the last hour or so....

And the riff does not leave me at all. Lets count the blessings in the song :-).

Firstly, you have Jagjit Singh, at his zenith. He genuinely appears drunk and high on the song, but that just elevates his voice from a simple croon to a delectable recitation.

Then you have the unmissable judgalbandi between the acoustic guitar (dont miss the strain of Veena in the background) and the vocalist. And the tabla on a heightened track (which means it is almost as if the tabla is playing in the foreground, instead of it being the background).

Gulzar doing the rounds with lyrics and the massive metaphors that usually accompany any of his songs.

As I wrote the "pause" wala post, I just remember "Kate Nahin Raat" by Sultan Khan. I have just heard that song on repeat n times on the flight.

I have posted about this song and the musician a few times. Sultan Khan (Ustadji) has to by my #1 musician for life. His music speaks to me as if he were part of my genes. I realize he is gone, but his music makes my everyday smile - just by their notes.

I don't think I have said this before...in 1999, I was at one of my favorite startups....and I had just bought this album...and the start-up crowd (all in their 22s) loved it.

We used to play this song on repeat...of course not to forget Jagjit Singh and Pink Floyd on infinite playlist....so much so that the music from those days is baked in my genes. Won't be surprised if one day my daughter hums "Hey you!!".

On a complete hyerplink, I met the founder of that startup 2 days ago...and felt as happy as I have been in many years.

I have always been fascinated by the power of the "pause" in music. The most notable examples in my head are from
- "Killer" by Adamski (The thump has a cadence, but you would probably not like it, if it was not for an unexpected pause that comes up in the cadence...after a 1000 listens...the pause still mesmerizes me always)
- "Killer - papa was a rolling stone" by George Michael which is nothing but a rehash (but at a genius level) of the first song we mentioned. In this one the pause, before the thump begins and the Wembley stadium fires up...is something goose pimples live for :-)
- "Kate Nahin Raat" by Sultan Khan has the pause which just takes the simple love song to greatness levels.
- "Kuch tho hua hain" - Shaan and Alka from the Karan Johar classic....has Shankar Ehsaan Loy creating magic.
- "Kashmir" by Zepplin has the pause before the classic guitar riff.

Without these pauses, would you recognize the beauty of these songs? No, or so I believe. I have been introspecting....these pauses break the harmony (if present in the background), but just super amplify the melody.

Notice the pause, without the pause, you would never be able to recognize the greatness hidden within some of these songs.

Not many of you would have heard this, by "Super Singer".....He is a Sukhwinder clone but with a heart and a tone of gold.

Listen to this song...and be enthralled. I have heard this song at least a 1000 times and it never yet stops its mesmerizing lure.

A lost gem from the past decade. Do give a fair chance. The voice, the music, the lyrics and all of it will make you wonder....does the music industry really allow talent to foment....or does it push it to go stale and ferment.

This song by Shafaqat Amanat Ali Khan from the movie Kabhi Alvida na Kehna. A massive orchestral composition - which has the song move from very high to very low (I think the voice spans at least two octaves...the tone deaf in me cannot validate) in the span of a few seconds.

The song invariably polarises the listener. Either he likes it, or she hates it.

One question that I have often heard in drawing rooms is - "would this song have been better sung by Rahat Fateh Ali?" And in my head, he would have quite literally "killed" it :-), belly up.

Rahat is the sugary types versus Shafaqat is the melancholic type. We need melancholy in this song.

Gulzar's genius is in all glow, in the song "Chingari Koi Bhadke", which Kishore sings with so much emotion.

Essentially the song says, that if the healer assumes the role of the "perpetrator", then who shall save us?. A few sample couplets, which will be ruined by my translation.Na Jane kya ho jaata,Jaane hum kya kar jaate,Peete toh zinda hain,Na peete toh mar jaate,Duniya jo pyaasa rakhe,Toh madera pyaas bujhaye,Madera jo pyasa rakhe,Too use Kaun bujhaye,

Dont know what would have been possible,Unsure what all I would have committed, I drink and hence I survive this life,Without this elixir, I would be long goneIf the world keeps me thirsty, then its this wine quenches the thirst,If this wine itself decides to make me arid,Then who shall water my soul?

I moonlight as a poet. Of course I write sweet abstract nothings. Usually - more nothing, less something. Really.

And then every now and then I read/hear something like Pooja. Awesome Slam poetry !!

But, is that enough acknowledgement? Really is this just Pooja's poetry? Or is this, the angst we help propogate in our everyday lives - as fathers, brothers, sons, mothers, sisters, friends - and not to mention disrespect(ers), if there is such a word.

Like yesterday - I spoke to someone newly married, who said - his wife is still learning cooking...but he is okay with that- he said the food sucks, but he hopes to get good food in 2 months from now. One part of me wanted to tell him "If you want to eat, learn to cook" and "learn it for yourself" not via a wife or hiring a cook.

BTW, thats exactly what I tell my son all the time.

Am I an equalist? Hell no, I am more criminal in this "business" than Al Capone can be....but I definitely know the jerk when I see one in the mirror.

Meanwhile, dear Pooja, I dont know you at all, but take a bow !!. Hope the universe delivers my heartfelt respect to you.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Picture this.
I meet someone who lives in our apartment complex on the porch leading upto the elevator. She and her husband are clearly coming back from a walk - with their daughter (must be around 3-4 years), a large dog, and a slightly smaller one (who has only 3 legs...possibly lost in an accident)

So I politely greet them with a note, and then smile and look at the child and dog. As the elevator arrives, I hold the door for all of them to get in before I can jump in too.

She looks at me and says “sure you want to travel with us and the dogs”...

I smile warmly and tell her something to the effect “ that dogs are family too”.

I think that breaks the ice. She beams.

Once we are all inside the box, I ask her the obvious “out for an evening walk?”.

She again beams her million dollar smile and answers with a genuine smile that’s so rare in times like today - she says “Yes. Walking with husband (who she looks at and smiles) and our three kids.”

She is referring to the dogs, and the daughter, that much is obvious. But then she says something completely endearing, she points to the daughter and says “our two-legged kid”, then to the 3 legged dog and says “our three-legged kid” and finally to the large dog and says “and our four legged kid”.

I smile back (my heart is beaming with is exchange) and tell her, “that’s such a perfect way to put it. Looks like one real happy family.”

Indeed 3 kids with ascending number of legs - does indeed sound like a happy wholesome family.g

Suraj ka Satvaan Ghoda is a very well known book and movie. I have often wondered in the past - why the oblique reference. Its only in recent months that I have discovered the background to that title. Here is some interesting background. Read and be enthralled :-), or at least I was.

*Unlike the months of the year, weekdays have no astronomical correlations. It is an arbitrary division of time, believed to have its origin in Babylon from where it spread eastwards to India and thence to China and westwards through Rome to around the Mediterranean. Just as Romans attributed the first day of the week to the Sun, so did Indians who called it Ravi-vaar. Why was the first day of the week associated with the Sun, no one knows. It is one of those mysteries of history that remain unresolved. The earliest reference to Sunday in India comes from texts dated after 400 CE, and it is believed to have come with Sun-worshippers like the Huns, Parthians and Scythians, who entered India around the time of the Gupta kings.**Surya is an important god in Hinduism. He is the chief graha or celestial body around which revolve all the astrological grahas. He is the Supreme Father whose chariot is made up of 12 wheels, each wheels corresponding to the seasons, and which is pulled by seven horses. They say that while six horses are seen, the seventh horse is unseen. It is the mysterious horse of intuitive wisdom whose presence is felt but which remains invisible. Surya’s charioteer is Aruni, the god who is incomplete, of ambiguous gender, because his mother, in her impatience, broke the egg before he was fully ready to be hatched. Aruni shoots arrows that pierce the night sky, which is why dawn is so blood red.**Surya’s wife is called Saranya or Sanjana who gave her husband a pair of twins: Yama, the first man to die and hence the god of death, and Yami, who turned into the river, Yamuna, and to the night, Yamini, mourning for her brother. Unable to bear her husband’s radiance, Saranya ran away leaving behind her shadow-twin, Chaya. Chaya gave birth to Shani, the lord of Saturn, god who delays things. Surya realised that Chaya was a duplicate wife when he noticed that she did not love Yama the way she loved Shani. So he went looking for his true wife and courted her as a horse when he learnt that she had turned into a mare. From this equine union came the horse-headed twins, Ashwins, lords of the morning and evening star, who bring health and healing wherever they go. Scriptures refer to another son of the Sun, Revanta, the lord of the hunt, shown in art riding horses. Thus, horses are closely associated with the Sun-God.*

From https://thereel.scroll.in/860585/book-versus-movie-suraj-ka-satvan-ghoda-is-a-masterly-adaptation-of-a-brilliant-novel ....

*The title is a reference to the chariot of the sun god in Hindu mythology, which is pulled by seven white horses. Towards the end of the film and the book, Manik explains to his friend that when all other six horses have become tired and weak, it is the seventh horse, the one that represents dreams, that gives us hope for a better future. Manik Mulla says it best:***** “And yet there is something; something that has inspired and strengthened our resolve to pierce the darkness, to challenge and change the social order, and to re-establish the simple values and ideals of humanity. Whether you call it our conscience, our soul, or something else. And faith, courage and belief in the truth, push forth this luminous soul, just as the seven horses take forward the chariot of the Sun-god.”*****

Friday, December 08, 2017

I run a strange experiment in my little zen garden. I truly let permaculture and nature take its course. I let plants die and new ones be born. I let animals (yes we have rats) and tiny lizards and spiders and earthworms, dreamily live on their little planet.

Except...

That one particular plant, which is kind of a weed, with tiny leaves like the tamarind tree...I yank out....because once it settles in....it multiplies almost every night till it takes control of the complete pot.

Every time I de-weed it....the thought does cross my mind. Who am I to kill it?

What gives me power over its destiny? Who am I helping? Why am I helping? I am adding entropy into the world. Why is that tiny leaf tree less valuable to me than the basil or Jamun tree that also grows there.

I play God. I don’t enjoy it...but I still play it. And every single time the existential question hits me hard - WhoTF am I?

I was at a hole in the wall cafe with a friend on his birthday (on 15th Nov :-), so now guess who!!)

As he and I sat alone, reminiscing about Lawn tennis, philosophy, existential nightmares, our own battlefield weariness...and of course laughing off our losses.....

As he and I sat, we drowned beer (Bira of course) and Chivas (of course!!)....we both drank as if to drink is to set free.

The table next door, had two younger boys (probably in their early 30s)....drinking eating and reminiscing.

Remember this was a hole in the wall..and up walks a fully grown roach along the floor to their table.

I see it (and I am petrified of roaches...so much for my skunky bravado!!) and so do they. My friend is drunk blind :-)

As I watch the roach inches closer to them....and eventually they start trying to squash it. But not in a petrified way, but in a way that they seem to be enjoying it. They are killing it, one leg or piece of its body a time....stamping its life one breath at a time with their nike sneakers.

Something in me had revulsion. I don't enjoy the spectacle of treating other life forms as lowly. Have I not eaten meat, then why cast stone? I have definitely eaten meat in my day.

But the Buddhist in me believes that killing out of fear or hunger is still something I can rationalize. Killing for the fun or mirth of it....makes me feel strange.....

Of course, I am no one to judge the two folks...I have committed grave heinous murders in my life...both literally and figuratively.

But....death is not a matter of light in my head anymore.

One day, we too shall cross the bridge. One day we too shall encounter our own delusions. One day we too shall be the object of someone’s mirth. That is the day, as my life passes by me in an instant....as the brain is erasing its RAM.....I will definitely see the image of the squished up roach.

I have seen two deaths in the immediate family in the last 3 weeks. Death as always is a big reveler. It’s levels, revels and moves heavens.

Yesterday and today I spent time with the mourning. Today morning was unusual, the family of the deceased, decided to do as much of the rituals as were needed by Brahmanical standards.

One of the rituals requires them to invite about 10-12
Brahmans and then serve them a meal, give them rice + banana and pay them.

Just so that you can picture this...these are avowed Brahmins priests, folks who might have other day jobs, but their primary focus is Vedic rituals and to help society be in touch with their spirit.

So here goes.....
As one of the priests was heading up the other rituals, the other 11 had nothing much to do, save watch and chant. But....

Some of these folks started playing games on their IPhone. One of them started checking YouTube videos of phones. A few of them started speaking and gossiping amongst themselves. And finally at least one of them started checking twitter and WhatsApp videos.

Overall, a sorry state. Why would avowed priests come to a place of mourning and create such chaos?

I don’t disrespect them, but something about them and the way they conducted the rituals makes me believe something in the truth of the moment was lost. Their allegiance and purpose were lost too.

They were not in mourning or helping us mourn. They were clerks who were part of a red tape.

And it felt immensely sad to me, to me who is a person who is very away from the meaning of these beliefs. And yet....it saddened me.

What has the world come to? Will the spirits in the other world forgive us for being such a callous lot? I don't know. Should we blame the phone or Facebook or Twitter? I don't know.

All I know is, sometimes a simple humble heartfelt prayer and a feeling of compassion for the dead is more than enough to set the world back in order. Alas we get lost in the maze. (We all do, including me!!)

I have been listening to old ghazals and falling in love with poetry again. I remember when I was first trying to fall in love with ghazals...and there was a live album called “Echoes” from Chitra and Jagjit Singh (I love Chitra Singh too - I know most folks hate her - Listen to “Yeh na thi Hamari Qismat”)....

...and echoes is quite poetic.
Maybe its just nostalgic, but even back then it used to be one of my favorite albums.

And today...I am falling in love all over again...with the man called Jagjit, the lady called Chitra and the genre called ghazals.

I am half a Buddhist. Or at least I aspire to be one. And while at Vietnam, it looked like over 50% of the country was practicing Buddhists.

I did not have much time, given it was a friend’s wedding that I had come down to attend...and it was a two day packed affair. And yet the evening just before my flight I managed to smuggle two hours for a quick walk across the once Indo-China nation.

I could not help native the proliferation of “Laughing Buddhas”, other Feng Shui symbols all over the place.

Almost every shop (including Coffee & Beans...yes the one owned by Coca-Cola had some very visible Buddhist symbols). And at most shops had an incense altar was a foreword to the symbols. Of course, the incense was not burning anymore....looked like it was a more of a morning thing.

And then....then.....I noticed something unusual. At one of the shops I saw some cigarette stubs in the ashes...and I politely slighted it...assuming that the “stubs” had found themselves there mistakenly.

And then....then.....:-)
I saw them in many shops. And later at a pagoda too.

I was mesmerized. Did the Buddha in Vietnam smoke? He seemed to be at least - unless I was missing some symbolism here.

How cool does a God have to be, for his fans to offer him a smoke? Now - I, even more, want to be a Buddhist. Makes sense na?

On a recent trip to Vietnam some months ago, I had a strange experience. Picture this.
So I land at the airport and I am figuring my way out of the airport, onwards to meet the friend (who I had announced to with typical bravado that I don't need her help in picking me up...of course I am a global traveler!! Ha ha)

I finally walked up to the Airport Information Desk and want to ask them “where can I get a typical pay-as-you-go cab”....but...I have to wait my turn.

There is a fellow desi ahead of me. From his accent, he is in all probability a “gujju”, and he is asking the information desk - where can I get a “circus” ATM.

Now for folks who have never visited Vietnam - here is the dope - ask folks an English Question in slow, 1 word per second kind of speed, and in most cases, you will still not be understood by the other person. I think its the way desis speak with an accent that I presume does them in.

I am usually not hassled by having to wait. My view is, it is what it is. So I politely stand behind....and the conversation proceeds.

So the poor native is asking - what “circus”?
Gujju boy is going - “Circus ATM????”

I am spaced out, my brain is not processing. But hearing the word “Circus” incessantly I am now wondering - what is being spoken here.

A few repeated chats later, the gujju boy removes his wallet and removes a card and flashes the symbol to the “info desk”.

Ah...that’s when I get it. Like a flash the epiphany hits me...he is referring to the “Cirrus” image.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

More on from the previous post. The more I speak to my ecosystem and the world around me....I am beginning to see almost all of us live our lives cocooned within what I call as our RDF (Reality Distortion Fields).

And I mean all of us. Including me.

The more I observe the more I am fascinated at how warped these RDFs are....and how powerful they are. All of us believe in them.

Of course, if you believe in Buddhism, then reality in itself is distorted. Which means there is no reality. It's just a construction of our minds.

What I refer to "reality" in my RDF theory is generally accepted truths....like "a red color Ferrari" is a car. Now whether it is a good car, a terrible car, a fast car, an overpriced car...and so on...that's where RDF kicks in.

While this might all sound amusing and funny....observe others with a dispassionate lens, in your chats and engagement with them. In almost every case, you shall see what I am saying.

We all (including me) live in our own carefully constructed RDFs. And these contribute to fun outcomes - like I believe I am thin (though I am overweight), I believe I am smarter than the rest because I studied at Ivy league, I believe that I am faster than the rest because I just believe it :-), I believe that I am more analytical and guess what...I am always logical...even when I believe wholeheartedly in the Loch Ness monster...............get the drift? Get the joke.

Picture this. So the son hurts his friend of the same age yesterday, albeit completely inadvertently. She falls on her head, and the shocks send a few spasms within her nose. The sensitive tissue ruptures and she bleeds. The tissue being subcutaneous the bleeding is quite a bit and gory.

And then the fallout starts.

We try and tell the young kid that he should be more careful. The stupid assumption we make is by telling someone some pedantic jackshit, we shall get him/her to be better. ("Do as I say, but never do as I do"...la la la).

And then, we wheel the little girl into ER. The assumption we make is, if there is something dangerous, the docs will cover for it. Guess what the docs say, the world could end in the next 12 hrs, so "open your wallet", pay for a night of ICU. Sounds like mindfuck, right?

In all of this, I truly wonder - how much I have gone away from reality. I have now started assuming that pedantic shit works, and on the other hand, I have replaced "responsibility" with "faith" - albeit faith in a system and set of people - who are far from being evolved themselves.

As I write this - my wife tells me to "shut up", she thinks it's easy to judge, castigate and do living room pontification. I hear her, and my mind goes, Buddha was right, breaking illusions is the most difficult, because our mind(s) don't want to know what they don't know.

Thursday, November 09, 2017

Today on my flight, I slept off waiting for the flight (which was 3 hrs late) to take off. I woke up a few mins later...sweating and numb. I knew that strange feeling.

Yes, I felt as if I was about to pass out. I needed water urgently. I glanced around - opened my mouth to speak...could not get a word out. Not a sound. Looked the person next to me. He was snoring away too.

I could feel the familiar chaos of thoughts kicking into overdrive. It always happens before passing out. That panic which sets in just before claustrophobia or passing out is immensely scary.

Buddhists say - this is a very mild version (very very very very mild version diluted to a 1ppm almost !!) of what happens when we die. The loss of consciousness and it breaks off from the 5 embodiments that tie it to our bodies, happens along a route which is exactly along the lines of passing out...just a million times more potent.

If that is correct. I know I am not going to face death bravely. And like the Buddhists predict because I could not stand up (figuratively) to the scares of the dissolution process, I will be condemned to be caught in the cycle of samsara, to be born again within 49 days....(yes that’s what they say...almost)

And I will, of course, we condemned to repeat the errors of my previous lives.

I have written about this before. As I am reading more and more about the “secret life” of trees....what I am learning, of course, shocks my blasé assumptions.

More importantly, I remember, about someone called Lawrence, who we used to call in School as “Lawrence sir”.

He used to teach us basic economics in classes 8 to 10, basic woodwork in classes 5 to 7.

I owe my interest in economics and carpentry to him. Unabashedly admit to that.

Anyone else who studies in SJBHS (St. John the Baptist High School, Thane, Talao Pani).....in the 80s? Do you recall “Lawerence Sir”.

He also used to conduct UN classes....something I had taken so that I could spend another 3 hrs away from home (ahem!! More on that later). This was post-school from 2 to 3.30pm

In one of those classes, I remember he came in very late. We being we (as in kids) we ran amok in the classroom. When he finally came in, he saw us completely wasting our time and possibly wasting ourselves.

I don’t remember how...but his pedantic diatribe against us, quickly veered into how plants lived.

And his key points were
1) All plants talk to each other all the time.
2) You hurt one plant and every plant in the universe (of the same species) immediately sees you as a threat.
3) Plants can smell.
4) Plants can also talk though we cannot hear them.

#4 is wrong...but on all others, he was presciently right....30 years ago....that’s amazing...and he was just a small-time teacher in a small time public school.

He also continued and told us that the same applies to dogs/animals. You hurt one dog and every dog in the world will be scared of you. You are afraid of one dog and every dog in the world knows he can scare you.

I have not read anything like that yet....but Derrick Jenssen’s readings are remarkably close. (Look him up....you will be knocked by what you learn).

So in conclusion....looks Lawrence was remarkably right. Genius in small-town clothing? Anyone?

Friday, November 03, 2017

Death is a strange beast. Like Maynard Keynes would have said, its the only certainty in our lives....and yet we all struggle with it, at least I most definitely do.

Every time it comes knocking (like it did today), a part of me still violently jolts up, as if I was in the presence of a un-welcome perpetrator.

But....

The Buddhist in me also considers Death as our best friend. (Notice how "beast" become "best")....

We can never be enough prepared for it because we never look at it as a constant partner in our life. We don't think of Death as a latent end point....e.g. when you cook rice, the rice knows (or I hope it knows) that its final endpoint is consumption by us. It knew that all along (In fact I am sure the biochemical expert residing in the plant, knew very well what it was designing the seed/grain of rice for.....to be chewed by us...to make us sow more and more rice across the earthland.....Read Michael Pollan to realize that while you believe that you killed a weed and planted the apple....its the apple tree that is subtly manipulating you all the time....plants are masters at getting their way.... they are indeed God's Alchemists!!)
But...coming back...the rice knew that it was meant for me....similar does every little breath of life in me know that it is finally meant for "ashes to ashes, dust to dust"?

Death must be out in the open. English as a language renders death sterile with its euphemisms (like passed away, or "ashes to ashes")....and that gives the state of our minds away.

Does language impact the way we think? Of course. Open for a debate on it!!

But.....

Today death still came when I was unprepared. It came through the door...but we would like to believe it came shrouded and wrapped. It came like a haughty village roughie, but I would like to believe it came stealthily. It came accompanied by an entire party, but I would like to believe it came unannounced.

The futility of this cat and mouse sometimes amuses me.

The next time I see The Lord on the Buffalo.....I do intend to tell him a warm heartfelt "hi" and offer him "green coffee" so that he can lose some weight :-)

Wednesday, November 01, 2017

I was seeing something on Scroll.in (which I believe is a good place for positive and authentic journalism).

This one was about #MeToo, a campaign on which I am neutral (more on that later).

The Buddhist in me has always maintained that "a war is a war is a war"...which means to the person in Syria or to a person trapped in abuse, the "immediate war" is their entire world. The "war" engulfs their whole being, entrapping their voice and more often than not disquieting their personal conscience forever.

Its impossible to measure what a "war" means to each of us. For some of us Lepidopterophobia (fear of butterflies), it's the butterflies or moths that ignite that trigger for war. For all of us, a real war, or abuse is always a "war".

My point being...a "war" is personal. Always.

Even broad political battles like Gaza or Kashmir are personal. Its this of intimacy that leads simple uncomplicated human beings to fight on either side and kill other equally uncomplicated human beings.

As I heard Afreen (see here), I was in awe of her courage and at the same time personally shamed. My wars are nothing in relation to the wars in the open out there. She is brave, she is strong and more importantly, she has survived a war. She deserves our love, respect, and a simple heartfelt bow.

Watch her as she speaks. Chaste, poetic Urdu, her eyes pausing every now and then to quiver with disgust, her body trembling as it relives the "war", her call to her "dad" both imploring at the same time impeaching.

She is right. We have killed her and buried a large part of her in that room. And the dead have no "rights" to escape a war. They are the collateral scarecrows that we use to remind others of minefields, at the same time they are also trophies at the altar. RIP Afreen.

He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair.- Arundhati Roy

Monday, October 30, 2017

For the record, I am apolitical. I believe I don't know enough about most issues (due to lack of interest!!) to lean on any side.

On Kashmir too I am apolitical. But....

I have now known a few personal stories. These are stories of personal war. These are simple people like you, me and our children. All these folks want is peace and continuity. They would prefer normalcy to any kind of legitimacy.

The folks I know work within urban jobs (startups, technology) and while the impact they feel on their lives is just as much as others - their response is not of violence or even indignation.

Their response is in fact full of....."fatigue".

They want peace, and they want to continue with their lives. Watch this video link. It should remind all of us, of our own frailty, of our own failings, and of course of the demons hidden within each of our crevices.

Kashmir is more and more resembling Tibet. War ravaged and tired. A silent prayer for its peace.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

I have changed my lifestyle and am slowly introducing music back into my work life. And today as I listening Tai (Kishori Amonkar) sing Adana Malhar (one of my favorite renditions), I am reminded of the humility that I need to recognize everyday greatness, and am also observing how much peace comes in by just listening.

Also as I was listening to this - it occured to me that "Jhanak Jhanak Payal"from the V shantaram classic should be based on this, and yes indeed it is. (though wiki says it is adana asavari and I am sure that is correct).

Tuesday, April 04, 2017

I am fond of classical music, but in a non-classical way. I cannot distinguish the 3000 odd ragas, except for the more popular ones. But someone say, Todi, and to me it has to be only Kishori Tai.

Yes, Kishori Amonkar passed away yesterday. A silent prayer for peace. She was not just blessed, she made sure the world around her was blessed with her music.

In parts, I loved her, also because she was never afraid of her solitude. She made it her mark to wear her silence on her sleeve, except while singing of course.

In my humble desolation - I can relate to that feeling, my eternal need for a little more silence. Kishori Tai/Didi/Devi whatever - rest in peace. The world is a little less beautiful today. I as a human being will miss ya. Take a heartfelt bow.

A good read. http://www.firstpost.com/living/meeting-kishori-amonkar-conversing-with-tai-was-just-like-listening-to-her-music-exhilarating-3366704.html

This image from Youtube will remain one of my fondest pictures. The photographer in me loves it.

From Wikipedia I loved these two quotes

She credits her mother with using this approach to teach her, noting, "You have to walk and run on your own. The guru gives you strength to be able to do that. If you don’t, then you remain ordinary. My mother made sure I wasn’t ordinary.”[5] She noted that training is an ongoing process, and stated in an interview that she often listened to her own recorded performances to analyse and improve her technique.[5]

Amonkar has emphasized emotion and spirituality as essential parts of her singing, stating that "To me it (music) is a dialogue with the divine, this intense focused communication with the ultimate other."[10] She has often spoken of music as an act of sublimation, noting that it is the sadhana (medium) to attain the sadhya(destination).[11]

and...

Responding to these comments, Amonkar has stated that this reputation perhaps derives from her insistence that performers be treated respectfully, and to the fact that she chooses to spend time before her concerts in solitude and preparation instead of socializing with fellow musicians. Amonkar has stated, "I never play to the gallery. The audience cannot disturb the loneliness of an artiste."[5]

Picture this.
Two weeks ago, I am driving on my little bikey near Mulund, and I reach a cross-junction (the fortis junction) where all traffic is paused.

I wait for 60 seconds. Its 11 in the morning and sweltering within the helmet. I then switch off the engine and then remove the helmet (and balaclava) and do the Saif Ali hair swagger :-) (you know the rapid swagger which gets rid of sweat drops)...

I look around. Its matrix like, and all traffic from all roads into the junction is dead. There are cops all over. They are shooing away even pedestrians...so essentially all stop dead.

And the fking mumbaiker in me goes "Is this Delhi?", "which politico is it now?".

Then Zen awareness kicks in...and I say...nevermind. Breathe. I begin looking around and enjoying the pause. Another 3 odd minutes pass.

Then the driver from the neighboring rickshaw (which is a goods rickshaw) gets down...walks around and then comes back.

My roving eyes see him get into the driver's seat. Another minute, and then my eyes meet his. He too is looking my direction and he is smiling. I am polite. I smile back and shake my head almost saying " life is what it is"....and he finds my attention on him and speaks....and this is what he says in Hindi....

"Sir, Heart hain...." (Sir, its a heart!!).

I look him strangely. I honestly don't get the context. He can see I am perplexed. He says again..."Sir, heart hain, heart hain....", and he is smiling as he is talking.

And believe me, I am so thoroughly confused. So I politely tell him, "bhaisaheb, nahin samjha" (Dear brother, I did not get you at all!!).

And he smiles even broader and he says with excitement, "Sir, Heart....Heart....Dil...Dil....Dil ko transport kar rahein hain hospital mein." (Sir, they are getting a heart into the hospital).

I finally get it - this blockade is to get a heart into fortis for a transplant - some kind of human emergency - and I beam into a giant smile too, and tell him spontaneously "Phir tho yeh banta hain....:-)" (Then bloody all this is all so worth it :-)).

And in that moment, my stress (if any) is all gone. I look up to the Sun (and thank him as a proxy to the universe).

This is what life was always supposed to be. The world stops for a beating heart. The world should stop for another's life. The buzz should pause and let it all soak in.

Mumbai (or Bombay) take a bow. Dear Cops, take a bow. Fortis, take a bow. And the person who died for the heart to be available, you are the Buddha. The Buddha who paused all traffic and life for a few minutes at a busy city.

In that moment, I knew I had witnessed the seas parting. A miracle had occurred in my presence. I am blessed.

Thursday, March 02, 2017

Finished my 9th book of 2017, but just posting the second of those. More coming along.
Read Stefan Zweig's Chess - its a haunting novella - written in the unhurried build up style of the pre-current generation.

On a scale of linguistic genius its probably a 5/10 given its a translation.
On the scale of haunting, it rates right up with Kafka' metamorphosis. Gregor Samsa all over again.

Read it, overall a 8/10 read in my reco list. I will defi read it again many times over in my life.
Smallish read about 85 pages. So you should finish this in one sitting.

Tuesday, February 07, 2017

“What a tragic realm this is, he reflected. Those down here are prisoners, and the ultimate tragedy is that they don’t know it; they think they are free because they have never been free, and do not understand what it means.”

Sunday, February 05, 2017

This is my second read of the book. The primary premise of this book being Postman argues that if we don't understand television and social technologies well, they will eventually become tools of amusement and entertainment - and less and less focussed on "value".

Fascinating read. I must admit this book has always had a deep influence in my life. Being away from Facebook, Television, Twitter and the social dance for over 7 years now - I think I have internalized the being of Postman.

On a scale of 10 - I would rate it 10.

On a scale of insight I would rate it 10 on 10 again. Completely changed my way of being.

My second read was just as enjoyable as the first (which was many years ago).

"My kick the bucket" list

** 1. Scale Everest.** 2. Bike down to Leh3. Publish a work of fiction.** 4. Run a 42k Marathon.5. Do a 3 month Vipaasna course6. Motor down to Leh7. Visit the Golden Temple8. Watch a Roger Waters Concert9. Write a book of poems (not necessarily publish)

(** refers to items which the defeatist in me feels I shall never achieve.....)